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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26722618">beyond the curtains, underneath your gaze, i think i found it</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/pseuds/paperpenpal'>paperpenpal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff, Longing, Post-Game, Post-War, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:28:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,392</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26722618</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/pseuds/paperpenpal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments before she's meant to be on stage, Dorothea spots a familiar face.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>beyond the curtains, underneath your gaze, i think i found it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/English_frog45/gifts">English_frog45</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuminder/gifts">chuminder</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I found out really belatedly that it was Dorothea's birthday and JUST wrote this in time.  </p><p>It's based on <a href="https://twitter.com/chuminder/status/1305682078265159680?s=20">this </a> art by <a href="https://twitter.com/chuminder">@chuminder</a> on twitter which I saw a few weeks ago and LOVED and started to think about but never got around to jotting down. </p><p>Thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnilee">Sunni</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julx3tte">Jul</a> for reading it over and reassuring me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dorothea has always enjoyed a good Hero’s Journey.  Those fanciful tales of knights and warriors questing into the unknown, seeking glory only to return home after finding oneself, have always been a crowd favorite.  Everyone likes the fall and the subsequent triumph of a good long learning tale.</p><p>They were never her favorite.  She did not think of them the same way that Ingrid or Ashe would when they spoke of them, huddled together in rapid-fire whispers between library stacks and she did not hate them like Felix did with his scowl or Sylvain’s carefully hidden narrowed eyes but Dorothea liked them well enough.</p><p>She liked them much more before she became the subject of one.</p><p>It doesn’t fit.  Hero’s Journeys have specific conventions.  A carefully documented twelve-step process that only occasionally wavers and when they do, they are subject to much debate by high-born scholars with a lot of time in their hands.  Dorothea does not have that time, nor the privilege to debate, she simply plays the parts she is offered.</p><p>Those parts were never supposed to be the center of those stories.  </p><p>Songstresses have no place in war or passed down Heroic histories.  Those are for the champions, the knights, the lords, the kings, and the emperors.</p><p>Still, they were there, were they not?  She was.  She marched down the gates of a city she once called home, slinging fire from her fingertips as smoke overtook what was once a clear blue sky. </p><p>Dorothea has not cast a spell in a year.  Instead, she built back an opera house with help and her own hands- grueling awful work she is not meant for, but she has learned that she can do many things she is not meant for.  </p><p>Enbarr stands again.  Its city flags boasting a beautiful blue and within it, in a giant dome-shaped building, Dorothea sits backstage in her dressing room, staring into a mirror waiting.</p><p>Her opening night has come and gone.  She is now five shows deep and waiting for her sixth.  </p><p>It does not feel as it once did.  The nervous drumming of excitement and coursing of pre-stage anxiety has disappeared and given way to a quiet form of fondness that settles slowly into her bones but Dorothea does not love it any less.  She just loves it differently.  </p><p>The hero has come home changed, she supposes.  </p><p>The completion of her journey.  </p><p>
  <em> So what’s lacking? </em>
</p><p>When she closes her eyes, she can hear the collective murmuring of the crowd.  Once, in another time, it would’ve made her sweat, would have made her thrum with an energy she would harness to explode onto the stage with her first impressive entrance.</p><p>Now they say that Dorothea glides, floating onto the stage, stealing it with a quiet form of grace.</p><p>The knock on the door rouses her from her thoughts, from the way she looks at herself in the mirror and tries to remember what she looks like.  It is nearly showtime.</p><p>Dorothea rises and makes her way towards the stage.  She thinks nothing of the buzzing frantic stagehands around her or the way the other actors wait in the wings.  She prepares, instead, for herself to step out into the lights, ready to tackle her entrance when she spots a nervous figure dressed in white.  </p><p>The smile that spreads across Dorothea’s face at the sight is genuine and true.  “Ingrid?” She breathes to herself.</p><p>Ingrid holds flowers off curtain side.  She is wearing a very fine and handsome white suit with an unsure smile standing awkwardly in a place that ignores her in favor of the stress that comes with the show.  </p><p>Dorothea approaches, a step faster than she means to, her heartbeat not far behind and watches as Ingrid’s smile brighten into relief, “Dorothea!” She greets.</p><p>It has been a long time since they’ve seen each other.  Their parting had been bittersweet.  </p><p>“How are you here?” Dorothea can’t help but ask in wonder, “I thought you were on assignment in Fhirdiad.”. </p><p>The knight smiles, “I took leave.” Ingrid explains, “His Majesty says that it was about time and after I got your letter about your opening...well, I’m sorry I missed it.”</p><p>Dorothea waves her apology off, “Please dear,” she says before looking at the flowers in Ingrid’s hands, “Are these for me?”</p><p>Ingrid blushes, “I uh, got them for you but I realize now that you’re about to go on stage so -“</p><p>“I’ll take them with me.”</p><p>Ingrid’s laugh is a far better song than any that have been sung on the stage beyond them thus far.  “Dorothea, you can’t do that!”</p><p>“Why ever not?” Dorothea says, “It’s my show.  I can do whatever I like.  It can be an exercise in improvisation.”</p><p>Ingrid beams at her.  “I really missed you.”</p><p>Dorothea can’t cry right now.  Not when it’ll ruin her stage makeup, but oh does she want to.  “Will you stay for the show?”</p><p>“I had planned to.” Ingrid says quietly.  “That is, if you’d like me to.”</p><p>“I’ll get you the best seat,” Dorothea says.  “And tonight, every song I sing will be for you.  Well, except for the one about murdering my husband.  That one will be dedicated elsewhere.”</p><p>Ingrid’s smile is playful as she tilts her head, “Should I be worried?”</p><p>“You?”  Dorothea says, fingering the ring on her hand, “No, but Count Hershal should if he doesn’t stop bringing me flowers.”</p><p>“Perhaps I should talk to him,”  Ingrid says.  She keeps her tone light but Dorothea can see the way Ingrid’s posture straightens.  </p><p>“You have nothing to worry about.” She reassures, patting Ingrid on the arm. “He’s harmless and besides, these are much prettier.”</p><p>“Not as pretty as you,” Ingrid says, bringing her hand up to brush a stray strand of Dorothea’s hair behind her ear.</p><p>The simple warm act feels like a first breath and it fills Dorothea whole.</p><p>“Hmm,” Dorothea says, catching her hand and threading her fingers with hers, “You’ve been spending time with Sylvain again.”</p><p>The flush on Ingrid’s face is ever-present.  “It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other,” she explains, looking down at their hands.  It’s endearing how embarrassed Ingrid can get even after all this time.  “I just wanted to...try a little harder for you tonight.”</p><p>Dorothea can feel the way her eyes begin to shine, and of their own accord, her hands reach up and cup the sides of Ingrid’s face.  Ingrid’s smile doesn’t waver but she does look back up, right into Dorothea’s eyes.</p><p><em> Ah</em>, Dorothea realizes, <em> this is what I missed.   </em></p><p>“You’re here.”  Dorothea whispers, bringing her forehead down against Ingrid’s, “That is more than enough.”</p><p>“Is it?” Ingrid whispers back, breath on Dorothea’s lips.</p><p>It is Ingrid, bold beautiful Ingrid, who reaches up on her toes and closes the rest of the distance before Dorothea can.  It is Ingrid who kisses her tenderly.  It is Ingrid that reignites that thrumming explosiveness from Dorothea’s youth straight into her chest and warms a part of her that she hadn’t realized had gone cold.  It is the part of her that commanded a room because she felt she had something to prove.</p><p>Except there is nothing to prove with Ingrid, not when she kisses her so soft and so sweetly, backstage of a homecoming that hadn’t fully been realized.  </p><p>Dorothea only pulls away because she has to.  Her cue is coming up but she doesn’t want to leave.  She keeps her head against Ingrid’s, breathing quietly against her lips.  </p><p>“I’ll be here,” Ingrid says.  “When you’re done.”</p><p>Dorothea nods, pauses for just a moment, before taking that final step away.  Then she pulls the ring, given to her so long ago, off of her finger alongside another band and passes them into Ingrid’s palm.  “I’m not supposed to go on stage with them.” She explains as Ingrid’s hands close around them, “I usually hand it to Clara to hold right before I step out but I trust you can keep them safe?”</p><p>Ingrid smiles and slips them onto her own finger, where a matching band rests.  The three rings look a bit silly on one finger but neither of them mind.  “I think I can do that.” </p><p>Dorothea grins.  She chances one last brief kiss with Ingrid before stepping out onto the stage lights to start her first song.</p>
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